


one two, one two

by pumpkinpickles



Category: Cinderella Phenomenon (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Voice Acting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 11:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18141743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpickles/pseuds/pumpkinpickles
Summary: (is this mic working?or is that just the beat of your too fast heart?)In which Fritz is a very bored post-season voice actor currently working at a crane machine arcade, and a mysterious masked lady who drops in daily is the only thing he looks forward to each day.[Voice Actor AU; more ships + characters will be added to tags as they appear]





	one two, one two

**Author's Note:**

> uh. yeah ! voice actor au ! 
> 
> 1) this will probs be a short three part series (at least im aiming to keep it at that lol)  
> 2) more characters + pairs will def show up later on  
> 3) will i ever stop writing fritz/lucette? no.
> 
> please enjoy !

* * *

 

 

For the first time since graduation, Fritz finds himself technically unemployed.

And it was refreshing. Absolutely ecstatic. Not that he’d ever admit that to his manager. Fritz might be a little naive, but he didn’t seek _death._

Sure, it was a little odd, not having to wake up at seven and go straight to the studio in the biting cold that never left Angielle. Some days it was even disorientating to have a whole day of nothing ahead.

Occasionally, it’d bring back bad memories of an uncertain future and the looming dread of having put all his eggs into a single basket. But nowadays, all he had to do was open his email and - poof.

One look at all the offers streaming in day after day, hour after hour...and there that dread went.

Voice acting was a funny business like that; once his show’s season was over, it’d be a while before the next script for that particular series would come along. Which, coincidentally, was when the man hunt began.

With his recent series and voice suddenly being vaulted to the biggest hit on the block, it was no wonder that Fritz found himself in the midst of studios and shows eager to snatch him up at any given moment.

The only thing that stood between the numerous jobs and Fritz went by the name of Mythros.

With no little effort by the manager, the stubborn voice actor had been forced into a break.

If Fritz had had his way, he’d be working 24/7. He _did_ find it rather hard to stem the adrenaline of working for his passion, now that he was fully immersed into the industry.

So Mythros had actually held a steak knife at him and _dared_ him to pick up another role when he caught Fritz reading a script not by _Marchen_. He would wear his voice sore if he continued, Mythros had berated.

“Anyway. Working with these third rate _hacks_ that couldn’t give us the time of day when you were starting out? No thank _you.”_ Mythros had scoffed, knocking Fritz on the head with a rolled script. His expression had turned fouler upon remembering Fritz’s beginnings. “Funny how they’re the ones begging at our door now that you’re successful.”

“But it’d be a good chance to expand on my vocal range?” Fritz had timidly piped up.

Mythros’ scathing stare was more than enough to have Fritz shutting up in defeat. So with a final warning from his manager, Fritz was put under house arrest.

Fritz understood his manager’s kind intentions. He really did. After nearly a whole year of non-stop recording, despite loving his work and his production team, to be able to rest his vocal cords and not constantly strain them day after day was divine.

Mythros wasn’t wrong in the department of Fritz having a good enough range either. He knew best after all, being the one to discover Fritz’s talent and nurture him into the actor he currently was. Mythros’ tongue might be sharp, but his good nature leaked through with every honey lemon drink he’d prepare for Fritz post-recording.

But after his third marathon of CSI, Fritz was frankly starting to believe that this newfound freedom was going to drive him _nuts._

In the beginning, it had been practically heaven to finally let go of work, stay home and play with his beloved husky all day. Yet ever so slightly, his workaholic tendencies began creeping back, as did his annoyance with an irregular schedule. 

So one desperate phone call and a quick interview later, Fritz finds himself temporarily employed once more.

Except it’s not quite the job Fritz had been expecting to get.

He hadn’t thought of jumping back into his usual job again so soon, god forbid Mythros’ wrath dare he even think of it. But Fritz did think that he might land something more conventional, like waitressing. He’d always thought that would be fun. Yet Mythros had shot down that idea quite quickly over the phone.

“Only one of us needs this much disdain towards humanity.” Mythros had said. Fritz would like to think it was a joke. But knowing his manager, it probably wasn’t.

Which had lead Fritz to go through one online ad after another, until he found one flexible enough to accommodate his playing-with-husky hours.

So here Fritz stands, in the middle of a place that was dedicated to crushing dreams and squeezing assets dry, all while playing lo-fi in the background.

Landing a job in a crane machine arcade would be a fun experience, Fritz supposes.

Even if the current start of the school semester lead most of his hours to being deader than a graveyard. People would occasionally trickle in, but rarely would Fritz have to do anything other than reset the toys after they’d left under ten minutes in resignation. Some days Fritz would even time them on his watch out of sheer boredom.

Leaning against a poster covered wall, Fritz finds himself entertaining a different kind of freedom. At least the atmosphere was dreamy enough, with the dim lights and upbeat songs, Fritz tells himself. Plus he _was_ earning seventeen an hour just to stand around, as the owner had so brilliantly put it.

Fritz isn’t complaining, not really.

It’s a nice, somewhat cozy place, with the tightly packed machines filled with colourful, cute mascots. With no real need to socialise, his vocal cords got to rest, as did the rest of himself. It also gave him somewhere to be, something to do every day instead of just whiling away at home burying his face into Eclipse’s fur as they napped together under the sun.

It was just...a tad dreary, that’s all. Even the two books he’d pack with him every day were only enough to tide him through half his shift.

Just as Fritz’s wondering if he should check on Eclipse via video feed for the umpteenth time that day, a brush of caramel catches his eye. Blinking, caught in the gaze of the stranger through a claw machine’s glass case, Fritz somehow cannot bring himself to look away.

The lady is dressed in dark blues, hair bundled up in a neat side ponytail, hands tucked into her fleece coat’s pockets. Bright, unassuming eyes framed with the longest lashes Fritz has seen seemingly staring straight past the glass. Widening ever so slightly, movements drifting to a slow pause. Wavering stock still, the black fashion mouth mask she dons only lending to her mysterious air.

Only lends to the flip flop of Fritz's stomach, of Fritz's heart.

An unwitting deer blinded by honey sweet headlights, Fritz finds himself swallowing, hard.

He doesn’t know if it’s the work environment or his damning, natural disposition to making friends, but Fritz smiles and holds his hand up in a half wave. He's acutely aware that it’s too polite and nervous a smile. He can feel it from the twitching facial muscles to his burning cheeks, dammit.

Mentally, Fritz slowly breaks down under her stare and his awkward correspondence. He just had to be natural. Be nice! It was his job to be nice. He was being paid to be nice.

The lady takes a few steps forward, and Fritz pushes himself up, readying to redeem himself with proper introductions and a better smile. But she never makes it around the claw machine. Instead, she stops right before it, giving the toys inside a cursory glance before reaching for her purse.

Oh. Of course. Fritz feels his face heat up another ten degrees. _Of course._ She had been eyeing the toys, not him. Of course it hadn’t been him. Great. Now he’d gone and made a lady who just wanted a cute toy uncomfortable. Fritz ducks his head, resisting the urge to groan aloud. He could just kick himself.

It’s okay, Fritz tells himself, taking a quick breath. He’ll just not look at her for the remainder of her stay. Just stare at the toys, keep a passive face, don’t be a creep, _again,_ and it’ll all be fine!

Except it was really, _really_ hard to keep a poker face when the machine the lady was trying for was the character he voice acted and very much loved, and had coincidentally been responsible for his newfound stardom.

Varg. The protagonist of the highly acclaimed novel series and recently turned animated show, _To Glory._

Despite the heartful title, Varg was quite an atrocious hero. He was far from the usual prim and proper lead, striving for justice and love. Nope. Not at all.

Varg was a thief, who laundered and stole from anyone he desired, at times even dabbling in assassination if someone would pay the right amount. Portrayed as a charismatic and sauve figure despite all his villainous deeds, he made quite a compelling and unconventional protagonist.

Anyone might think that a novel promoting such behaviour would flop before it even reached publication.

But the intriguing moralities brought up in the story, gracefully entwined with the constant challenging of Varg’s actions in rebellion of the rigid hierarchy he could never escape even as he ruled the aristocrats by shadowy fear, coupled with the heartbreaking ebb and flow of Varg’s character development, only sent fans in by droves. By the end of the second novel, it had already gotten sales unheard of within the last decade in the publishing industry.

Even Fritz, who had only auditioned for the role at Mythros’ persistence and been introduced to the source material after getting the role, had already pretty much sold his soul to the franchise. _Marchen_ was simply a breathtaking author-illustrator duo, who breathed life into a story like Fritz had never experienced before. And for someone who consumed books from classics to cheesy novels like he did, Fritz thinks that could be considered high praise.

With how well-written he was, Varg very quickly became an incredibly dear character to the bookish Fritz. Fritz had already reread the current three books at least five times now, and each reread only made shine the complexity of Varg’s character.

Furthermore, being given the privilege to voice act for his animated counterpart only deepened the bond Fritz felt to the character. It helped that his house was nearly filled with Varg merchandise, sent to him by official companies and fans alike. Although, he really would appreciate it if people would stop mailing ‘Varg’ marriage licenses. That was creepy.

Sudden movement jolts Fritz into paying attention to reality once more. Looking ahead, he notices the lady pushing the start button, and taking a deep breath. As she reaches for the joystick, Fritz cheers inwardly for her.

Gazing at the toys in the machine before him, an affectionate smile helplessly rises on his face. It was the newest line of Varg plushies, which had five different expressions. Personally, he liked the one with Varg pouting best, while Eclipse had claimed the one with Varg’s usual smirk.

Watching the claw descend, Fritz wonders which one the lady might aim for. Probably the one with the smirk, too. Most girls liked that one.

The claw sinks into the toys, and snatches air. Ah. Fritz feels his shoulders slump, as he's forcibly dragged back into the awful reality that was the worst part of his job. Business as usual. All the machines were hugely affordable at a dollar per play, but the disappointment upon seeing barely anyone win anything from the probably rigged machines was unbearable at times for Fritz.

Still, the lady remains unperturbed. She merely drops in another coin, and gives it another go. Eyes focused, trained on the claw with as much intensity as Fritz had felt before. Somehow, it makes him believe that she might actually get it.

But she doesn’t. The definitely rigged machine doesn’t let her, not even after another try. Yet her expression never changes. Not even a frustrated knitted brow, or even an exasperated roll of eyes.

She simply looks up at Fritz again, which makes him jump a little, at how unexpected it was, gives him a nod, and turns around to leave, nary a sad glance back at the machine.

Fritz has seen many people who come up to the machines with no real interest and walk away as uninterested as they came, but for some unspecified reason, he finds himself enraptured by the lady.

There was just...something about her.

Fritz leans back against the wall, somehow having leaned forward during her play. Lacing his hands together, he stares at the direction she’d left in.

 _How odd,_ Fritz finds himself thinking. _How fascinating._

_How...familiar._

With the monotony of his job, Fritz finds himself hoping that the lady with the fireglow gaze might return again.

 

* * *

 

Sure enough, she does. The very next day, in fact.

Fritz is a little more prepared this time, and gives her a proper wave and bright smile. It must be less weird now, since this was their second meeting. Fritz only hopes he isn’t being too forward, he knows some people prefer to be left alone.

But the way the lady pauses to nod a greeting before slotting a coin tells Fritz she doesn’t mind. He hopes, at least.

He cannot quite pinpoint why he hopes, but he does, painfully and strongly so _._

Once more, she tries for the same machine. Once more, Fritz watches the claw grab and drop different toys three times.

Once more, she looks up at Fritz, captures his eyes for a brief, yet prolonged, moment, nods a goodbye, turns and leaves.

Once more, Fritz is left staring at her back, feeling like the artificial lights are the softest of sunshines, and her eyes a dandelion’s bloom.

 

* * *

 

For most of the hours in his day, Fritz has pretty much nothing to do.

He simply stands or sits by the side, hands laced together, letting the slow, comforting beats of chill jazz fill his head.

Indulging in the little fantasies that play out in his head, forming formless figures and music videos, a roaming imagination of skipping piano and melodic hums.

Often, during the quieter days, which was really most of them, if Fritz was being painfully honest, he’d let his gaze trail over the occasional person walking past, and wonder where they might be going, what they might be doing.

A man with a baguette. Perhaps a baker, or maybe just some snacks for a light tea. Perhaps he fed birds at the park ten minutes from the arcade, maybe it’s his daughter’s favourite roll.

A woman with a large hat. Perhaps a fashionista, or maybe a hat designer. Perhaps she had a bad experience with tanning once, or maybe she was a vampire.

A student with a flute. Perhaps on their way back from school, or maybe just skipping band practice. Perhaps he picked it up to impress someone he liked, or maybe it was just a childhood interest.

Yet no matter how many people walked by, how many people Fritz saw, his thoughts always returns to the same lady who’d return every day to play the machine before him exactly thrice, and leave. Like a routine.

Fritz cannot help but wonder who she can be. A model, a teacher, a scientist. A fellow, a business partner, a mentor.

Cloaked in mystique and deep blues, her every visit leaves Fritz more captivated than the last, even as unromantic as the location is.

It’s in the way she moves, slow and deliberate and, hesitant. It’s in the flicker of her expressive eyes, the slow blink of focus, the quick downwards glance of disappointment. The glimmer that makes shine her honey gold eyes when the claw machine grabs something, when it doesn’t.

It sparks savage curiosity in Fritz to know what lies beyond that mask she always wears, what truths her carefully downcast gaze at times hide.

It’s inappropriate and creepy and weird to be imagining about a stranger.

Still, Fritz cannot help himself from wanting to _know._ Cannot help himself from being rooted on the spot every time she is the one to make eye contact with him, eyes the softest smile of a petal touch, a flurry of spring blossoming inside of him.

It’s the easiest thing in the world. To walk up, say hello, strike conversation. Fritz has done it millions of times. But in front of her, he feels odd and heated and vulnerable and can only hold his hands tighter together, a pressed flower smile upon his lips.

In the way the corners of her eyes crinkle, makes him wonder if she smiles the same smile back.

The thought makes Fritz still even as his heart rate rises.

 

* * *

 

The routine between Fritz and the masked lady continues for five months. A simple, daily meeting that Fritz has come to anticipate and try not to look like it.

He hopes with all his heart, with all his being, that he’s not overstepping any boundaries, or making her uncomfortable in any way. Sometimes, her looks make him feel transparent, all his invisible thoughts and feelings laid bare for her to slowly pick apart with those brilliant eyes of hers.

So he sticks to a casual smile and wave, like any good employee should.

Somehow, Fritz finds himself oddly occupied with how she might view him. He doesn’t want his weird behaviour affecting how she sees the establishment. He’d feel horrible if such a nice, frequent customer left because of him.

Mythros had stared at him like he’d grown a second head before grinning uncontrollably when Fritz had told him about this.

“She wouldn’t return if you disgusted her so much. Or initiate eye contact.” Mythros had said, and Fritz would believe.

Mythros wasn’t engaged to one of the loveliest women Fritz knew for nothing, after all! If anyone knew their way about a lady, it’d be Mythros.

Still, Fritz feels that perhaps the current distance they had between them was good. Maybe perfect. Even after hearing Mythros’ reassurances, Fritz still can’t help but be afraid of scaring her away.

Just thinking of those soft eyes hardening at him, turning disgusted and appalled makes something in Fritz wither away.

Although, he had to wrap this up soon. Curling a hand over his chest, Fritz quietens the ache with a frown.

The script for the second season of _To Glory_ was recently announced to be in its final draft, and would be sent to him once it had been proofread and edited. Give or take another month or so, and Fritz would be back at his usual job, and leaving his current one.

Despite awaiting this moment for months now, Fritz finds himself surprisingly reluctant to leave.

It’s the lazy hours and dreamy songs, he figures. Certainly not because of...an occasional customer.

Certainly not. Not when he didn’t even know her name.

She was just...just a passing fancy. A moment’s daydream. A vague notion of something, someone familiar.

The ache grows stronger, more insistent, and Fritz pushes it away with a quick shake of his head. He had to get it together. He wasn’t being paid to space out. Actually. He was, but that wasn’t the _point._

As Fritz lifts his head, who else does he see but the mysterious lady walking towards him.

Muscle memory enables his quick wave, and he determinedly suppresses any unhappiness from showing in his smile.

Today, the lady looks disheartened, eyes a cloudy brown haze from the shade of her lowered lashes. But when she catches Fritz’s eye, as she is always prone to do, they lighten like a warm summer’s day.

And for once, she raises a hand in greeting, too. The delightful change of pace has Fritz smiling wider, more truthful, and the returning tilt of head makes him long to pull the mask off just to see if her lips are curled the same his are, red as her cheeks have become.

Oh no. He really _was_ becoming a creep.

Before he can dwell on it any longer, the clink of a coin and the jingle of the machine draws his attention.

Today too, Fritz finds himself hoping she will win something. Wishes a little harder right now, if only to lift the seemingly perpetual cloud that hangs over her today.

Just as always, her three plays come to a quick, unfulfilling end. Disappointment and frustration crashes down on Fritz. He’s about to take the master key, unlock the machine and give her one already, for all the months spent trying, for her downcast expression that tugs and tears at his heartstrings, when she pulls out yet another coin.

The sudden change in her behaviour makes Fritz blink. She slots in another coin, takes a deep breath, and takes on a look of steely determination Fritz has never seen her harbour.

It’s one of resolution, of absolute seriousness, a mind made up. Sensing her determination towards the game, Fritz hangs back, and watches. Hoping with all his might that her efforts will pay off, even if it means he’ll never see her again.

She plays, again.

And again, and again.

And again, and again, and again.

Until Fritz has lost count, until she _must_ be running out of coins. But somehow, she manages to pull a dollar out after another, from her seemingly endless purse.

At this point, Fritz is bursting with exhilaration and exasperation. Why did these machines have to be so _infuriating?_ All they had to do was to just give her the toy. It wasn’t that hard. Fritz would do it in a heartbeat. Heck, he’d give her all of them if she just _asked._

Finally, the lady draws out what appears to be her very last coin. With squared shoulders, she puts it in for her final play.

A quick press to start, a jiggle of the joystick, an agonising fifteen second wait, and the claw descends.

Fritz holds his breath.

As indecision of whether he wants it to succeed or not wars in him, the claw ascends, revealing a plush tightly caught in its claws. It jerks, the toy holds firm, and it starts it’s victorious mechanical trek towards the chute.

Despite his sinking heart, Fritz throws his hands up in the air and cheers, “You got it!”, too overcome with the excitement of her finally winning, her adorable wide eyed surprise to really care about what that means.

Grabbing a paper bag from the nearby counter as the claw drops the toy into the dispensary, Fritz walks over to the machine. Carefully, he pulls the toy out from the dispenser. Ah, she’d gotten the one with the smirk. As he’d thought.

With a bright smile, Fritz puts the toy into the bag, and hands it to her.

“Congratulations! I’m so glad you got him. You’ve been trying for so long.” Fritz beams, and decidedly ignores the growing pit in his stomach that fights with the ever growing happiness he feels for her.

To his surprise, the lady shyly ducks her head. Shuffling slightly on the spot, she makes no move to accept the toy. Slender fingers fumbling, trembling as they curl into her side ponytail.

Just as Fritz is about to accept his fate to be branded as a weird stalkerish employee who’s been making the most beautiful person on Earth terribly uncomfortable for the past five months, the lady moves.

With the same resolution she’d played with in the final round, she reaches behind her ear, and tugs off her face mask.

It hangs off one of her ears, and she carefully angles her head to remove it properly. Timidly, she looks up at Fritz, meeting his eyes for the first time without anything in the way.

Eyes somehow brighter, lovelier, more emotive, and Fritz finds himself an unwitting deer caught again, in her stunningly sweet sunlight. Catching his gaze from under her lashes, confident yet not.

Lips a glossy peach hue, parting, speaking, “Thank you.”

Voice the softest, gentlest, steadiest tune, dreamier than even the lo-fi that plays. A crisp tone that resounds and makes strum the inner workings of Fritz’s heart.

Makes everything and nothing catches in Fritz’s throat all at once, rendering him momentarily speechless. His ears are burning, and so is his neck, and so _must_ be his face.

In the face of such wonder, Fritz can only blush a red too heavy for his face to hold, and cooly say, “Eh, ah, you’re we-welcome.”

His reaction seems to come entirely unexpected, for the lady blinks once, twice, before her nodding and reaching out to accept the plush.

Both stand a moment in silence, unsure where that puts them now that their roles have finished.

This time, the lady takes a visible breath, and without once breaking eye contact, asks with a bravery that shakes her voice, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Fritz, who’s still stuck on the clock, who’s technically a stranger, whose brain has been completely fried by this lady’s brilliance, cannot comprehend what exactly this might mean, and only stares blankly back in response.

Instantly, her expressions die out, hopeful eyes flickering to nothingness like a blown out candle. Shoulders dropping, hands curling tight into the bag’s handles, eyes once more downcast, saddened.

An awful sort of horror explodes in Fritz, curling over his stomach and bones and urging him to speak, to say something, to not let her go -.

“You don’t remember me. I apologise. Please just forget what I asked.”

Voice so flat, so filled with awning disappointment and so heavy with uncried tears it jolts a memory alive in Fritz.

She turns, ready to leave. Before she can take a step, Fritz takes a large one forward, grabbing her wrist.

The name escapes him fast, faster. The thudding of his heart, the pain upon her upset, her soon-to-be absence, makes him so.

“Riella?”

The lady turns back, surprised, suddenly red-faced. Her eyes are big and wide and filled with such sudden glitter it easily enraptures Fritz once more. Before her dandelion beauty, all Fritz can do is offer a bloomed smile of his own, brilliant and sunny as he’s always wanted to smile in front of her.

“I mean, Lucette Britton. Right?”

The lady turns back properly, but doesn’t shake off Fritz’s hand. This time, he takes the time to properly look at her. From her silky coral hair, her golden syrup eyes, to her soft glossy lips. Yes, surely it was her.

Lucette Britton, his co-worker for _To Glory._ Playing Riella, the noble lady who shut her heart away due to her mother’s death, condition worsened by her father’s fanatic obsession with her doll-like beauty.

Introduced in the second novel, during the midst of Varg’s struggle with his amorality. Captivated by her stunning beauty of lemon blonde hair and emerald green eyes, and filled with an insatiable impulsiveness, Varg had stolen her from her house. Once he learns of her contradictory deadened heart still filled with the flare of passion for the living with a home to return to, he grows interested in a person for the very first time. For the very first time, for a sake not his own, Varg begins to change on their journey to her mother's grave, where she wished to lie to rest eternally, too.

“A doll without her creator has no reason to exist.” Was Riella’s most famous line, after all.

Which Lucette had delivered chillingly well, in the latest promotional video announcing her as part of the next season’s cast members.

Tone so alike to the last sentence she’d spoken Fritz had recognised it immediately. 

The guilt over not recognising a fellow cast member was immense, but it really was no wonder why he wouldn't have remembered her by her looks alone. Season One of _To Glory_ only had Riella appear briefly near the end of the last episode, so the voice actors had never met for rehearsals.

Maybe he’d seen her along the corridors of the studio, but those days his mind was usually so packed with lines and gestures that his terrible memory would never have retained such a brief instance. Additionally, Fritz always had a better knack of remembering voices instead of faces.

But it all made sense now. The familiarity of her gaze, the casualness of the invitation. 

“Yes, I am.” Lucette says, bringing Fritz back to the present. “I presume you’ve forgotten me?”

“I’m sorry. My mind is usually on the script in the studio.” Fritz admits, fingers loose around her wrist. She makes no move to break away from it, so he lets it be, somehow overcome with the feeling that she might leave immediately if he were to let go.

Her features sink with further disappointment, and Fritz quickly continues speaking. Mismatched pieces turning, aligning, clicking in his head. Slowly attempting to make sense of the things that didn't, not yet; the warm way her eyes had casted upon him, the soft nervous tremble to her voice.

“I don’t think we’ve ever officially met. I’m Fritz. Fritzgerald Leverton.”

“I’m aware.” Lucette replies curtly, but the curious shine in her eyes, her hesitation to leave warps the edges in her tone into terribly soft intonations that do dangerous things to Fritz’s heart.

It's in the expectant gaze that's still so tightly guarded, it's in the way she lets him hold onto her.

It's in the way she looks at him, bright and unassuming and gently patient, gently hoping in a way Fritz knows his lousy poker face does every day when she arrives, when she leaves - purposefully catching his eye every time.

“And I’m sorry again, but I can’t do dinner tonight. My shift isn’t over until nine.” Fritz says, wills himself not to stumble or stutter or behave any more foolishly than he already has, suddenly understanding his rabbit paced heart, his definitely scarlet features, the silly smile that hangs on his face after she visits, that hangs even now, in front of her.

Lucette stares back at him, cheeks turning the slightest dust of pink under his certainly breathless stare, and Fritz finds the courage in himself to speak, to hold onto her just a little tighter like he’s always wanted every afternoon, and say, “But i’m free on this Saturday at six, if you don’t mind meeting then.”

The auburn stops and stares at Fritz for a very, very long while.

Then, just as prettily as Fritz has always envisioned it would and even leagues beyond, Lucette smiles, the smallest, shyest turn of lips that part and answer, “See you on Saturday.”

When Fritz lets go of her wrist, a paper with her number scribbled upon now replacing the warmth of her skin, he reaches up to touch the edge of his bashful smile that hasn’t dropped once since Lucette’s departure, a quiet 'see you soon'.

Looks like he had something to look forward to this break, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> before anyone asks/comments: no, Mythros is not engaged to Hildyr. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed reading this silly little self indulgent AU !! comment, kudos and ring that bell for notifs on more to come :"))


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